


Once Upon a Time in the West

by Sage (sageness)



Series: DSSS 2012 is coming! [5]
Category: due South
Genre: Alternate Universe - Historical, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-27
Updated: 2012-09-27
Packaged: 2017-11-15 04:19:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,084
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/523072
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sageness/pseuds/Sage
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Meg clung to the top of the train as it raced through the mountains in a freezing Canadian spring.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Once Upon a Time in the West

**Author's Note:**

> Enormous thanks to Hazel for the beta!

[](http://ds-ssdiscussion.livejournal.com)

 

 

 

Meg clung to the top of the train as it raced through the mountains in a freezing Canadian spring. Her parka was warm, but now and then a gust of wind would worm its way into her hood, sending shivers all the way down her spine. 

About fifteen miles further on, the train would pass under a bridge where a crack team of Northwest Mounted reinforcements would join her, and together they would save the Canadian Pacific payroll from the Bolt Brothers Gang. All she had to do in the meantime was keep from freezing to death.

The plan assumed, of course, that Constable Fraser had managed to sled to Jasper, telegraph to Calgary and convince their superiors of the direness of their need, all in time to stop the train. Meg refused to consider the odds against his success too closely; Fraser had a knack for attracting helpful coincidences that was almost uncanny, and that's what she was putting her confidence in. 

Snow-dusted fir trees continued to swish by and she let part of her mind drift back to her last duty assignment. Toronto, as a city, had been magnificent. She had adored the nightlife, the endless cultural opportunities, the fabulous shopping. But she had loathed her supervisor. She had despised being treated as a mere secretary when she was a policewoman with multiple commendations. Having to threaten to break his arm and his kneecaps to get him to stop pawing at her, though, that had been the last straw. Meg didn't love the West but she could see this through until something better came her way. She had no doubt it would, and in the meantime, Fraser's presence was a balm to her thwarted desires, in a manner of speaking.

Unfortunately, the train began to brake to a stop fully eleven miles from her reinforcements. Far ahead, she could see a wagon and a team of horses waiting at the corner of a road leading into the forest, and there was only one thing to do. Meg checked her pistol, leapt to her feet, and began to run full-speed toward the front of the train. With luck, she could swing down the ladder to the coal car before anyone could reach her and draft the remaining railroad workers to assist.

When she pulled her gun on the robber guarding the coalman, he was so surprised that the coalman was able to bash him in the head with his shovel from behind. "Very good," she said. "I'm Constable Meg Thatcher, NWMP."

"They call me Barney, ma'am. Pleased to meet you," he said, doffing his cinder-black cap. 

"How many robbers are inside the locomotive?" she asked.

"I reckon there are two, ma'am. I heard 'em both arguing with Old Phil about something."

"There was at least one more in the caboose," she said. "Was the brakeman the only one of your people back there?"

"Yes, ma'am. That's Young Phil."

"Well, Barney," she said as the train finally slowed to a walking pace, "here goes!" With that, she flung open the rear door to the engine, shot the two men not wearing a railroad engineer's cap, and nodded at Old Phil. "Constable Thatcher, Northwest Mounted. Sir, can you bring her back up to speed, please? We need to reach the bridge at Nine Mile Pass."

"Sure thing, ma'am." He flipped a steel signal switch on his control board, and a minute later Meg felt the drag of the caboose release. "Them scoundrels will be none too happy about it, though."

"No, I suspect not." After getting Barney to help her lug the wounded robbers into the first class carriage, she reloaded her spent rounds and readied herself to confront the rest of the gang. Barney went back to feeding the boiler, and Meg watched as the train slowly passed the parka-clad figure with the wagon. The accomplice was a pale-faced woman, but she had her hood up and Meg couldn't see enough of her to make a useful description of who they should track.

Half an hour later, after a shootout in the caboose that only Young Phil, miraculously, had escaped unscathed, and after Fraser had raced off into the snow to catch up the wagoneer's trail, Meg found herself accepting a cup of coffee from a young Cadet Turnbull. Down at the foot of the berm, they could hear the Bolt brothers shouting and cursing at the Mounties who were attempting to treat their wounds.

"Terribly rude, those Americans," Turnbull said.

She hummed her agreement and drank more of her coffee. Access to relatively fresh beans was the thing she missed most about Toronto. Perhaps she should set her sights on Victoria. It was less than a week's sail from there to San Francisco, and, well, perhaps things were different in the West.

"Well, Constable," rang out a deep voice behind her. She turned and saluted. "You did a good job here today, and all by your lonesome, if I rightly understand the way of things."

"Thank you, sir," she told Sergeant Frobisher. "I had a little help from Barney, the coalman, but all in all, I admit I'm rather pleased with the result."

"As you should be," Frobisher said. "It's rare to see a woman out in the field like this. Usually they seem to prefer to stay behind a desk, don't they?"

She assumed the blandest expression she could. "Not in my experience, sir. We go where we're assigned."

"Ah," he said, nodding. "Well, I imagine you'll be glad to be shut of these two." He waved toward where Cyrus Bolt was shouting something incomprehensible about the constitution of the United States and the Dominion of Canada.

"You know," she said, "I'd planned to spend this evening working on my Due South Seekrit Santa assignment, but it looks like I'll be doing paperwork instead."

"Oh, you're playing, too!" exclaimed Frobisher and Turnbull at the same time. They looked at each other, and Turnbull blushed pink while Frobisher chuckled.

"Well," said Frobisher, smiling warmly. "That is a happy coincidence."

Meg drank the last delicious, grainy sip of her coffee and held the cup up to Turnbull. "Is there more?"

"Half a tick, ma'am," he said and vanished into the train with her cup.

"Useful, that one," Frobisher said under his breath.

"Indeed, he is, sir. Yes, indeed."

 

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